


Sacrifice

by Weconqueratdawn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/pseuds/Weconqueratdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helped along by Hannibal, Will's transformation continues... A short fic set in the aftermath of murder, inspired by theseavoices amazing illustration for #itsstillbeautiful.</p>
<p>
  <em>It shocked him - the sweetness of it, how his body, mind, instincts came together. He was whole then, with no room for doubt; filled instead with uncanny purity. Especially so with Hannibal at his side, watching, suffused with warm approval.</em>
</p>
<p> <em>It was still beautiful.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It's Still Beautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800178) by [TheSeaVoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices/pseuds/TheSeaVoices). 



> TheSeaVoice's drawing is such a great visual prompt, I had to write something for it. A surprise late entry from me for Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive's #ItsStillBeautiful event.
> 
> Thanks to lordofthelesbians for super-quick beta <3

Still shaking, Will fumbled with his clothing, tugging his shirt over his head fully buttoned. One of the seams split, urging him to tear it off vigorously, desperate to be free of its tailored constriction. He threw it in the tub, pants and underwear too, and sank down naked to the cold bathroom tiles. 

With his head on his knees he listened to his heart pound, to his hitched and uneven breathing. He searched anxiously for any sign of the nausea he should feel. But there was only a thrumming energy, quickly fading, leaving him unsteady and struggling to gain purchase on what he'd just done. 

It shocked him - the sweetness of it, how his body, mind, instincts came together. He was whole then, with no room for doubt; filled instead with uncanny purity. Especially so with Hannibal at his side, watching, suffused with warm approval.

It was still beautiful.

The door opened and closed softly behind him. Will brought his arms up around his head, hugging his knees, caging himself in. There was no need for words, not yet.

Hannibal's eyes would be on him, calmly surveying the scene - the clothes which would need to be burnt lying discarded and sodden in the bathtub; Will bloodied and silent, sitting huddled at his feet. His thoughts were almost audible - the process of options weighed and discarded, the constant tick-tock of calculations and opportunities.

The silence between them stretched out, thin and brittle, and still Hannibal waited without speaking. From the floor Will couldn’t tell if he were unsure of his next move or simply allowing Will space to approach. As if he were something wild, undomesticated, which might lash out if handled clumsily.

Likely that was true.

Will tilted his head to cast a sidelong glance up at Hannibal. Yes, he was biding his time - patient, alert, enquiring. His sleeves were rolled up exactly as before dinner, like he'd simply stepped out of the kitchen for a moment. Apart from the blood his hands were dipped in, there wasn't a hair out of place.

“You planned this,” Will said. A flat statement of fact, rather than an accusation.

Hannibal levelled his flat, unblinking gaze down at Will. “I still cannot predict you. I do not pretend to know what you will do at any given moment.”

A lack of denial was as good as admission.

“But you hoped- _you wanted-_ ” Will sighed and covered his face again, speaking into the space between his legs. “And I knew it. I knew it all along. I let it happen.”

At his side, Hannibal shifted, relaxing his posture deliberately to lean against the sink. “How does it feel, Will?” he said, softly. 

“Don't pull that therapy bullshit on me now. You know goddamn well how it feels.”

There was a pause, and Will focused on his body - breathing less erratic, but deep and heaving like he’d been running. Goosebumps on his exposed skin, coated partly in blood still viscous and thick, prickling the hairs on his legs taut where it slowly dried. Heartbeat slowing but his hands still shook as the adrenaline drained away. 

He felt emptied out except for the memory of it. Skin splitting smoothly open as he slashed the knife - Hannibal's kitchen knife, casually left on the table after carving the main course. The gush and spray of blood where he'd sliced an artery. His anatomy was basic at best, and in the moment he didn't care - neatness wasn't where he found his beauty. It was in the struggle and the fitness of it - the eventual triumph which was also not a triumph. Another piece of his past self given away, exchanged for something yet unknown.

The first kill he could call his own.

“It feels… that in spite of your efforts to channel me, that belonged to me.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal incline his head in a short nod. Obviously that was the answer he’d looked for.

“I wondered why you befriended him. You chose him for me, didn't you?”

The air shifted, as Hannibal crouched down beside him. Will didn’t move, didn’t look at him, didn’t flinch. When Hannibal spoke his breath brushed the hairs at the nape of Will’s neck.

“In Florence, I met someone else like him. In a shallow way, he reminded me of you. I made you a gift of him. I watched you receive it, understand it, in the Chapel.”

Will pulled his head upright once more, thinking of a broken heart. After the comforting dark behind his eyelids, the reflected light on the tiles was brash.

“Another sacrifice at my altar.” He turned to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “So why do I feel like the lamb waiting for its throat to be slit?”

He was watching Will with soft delight, drinking in every nuance and greedy for more.

“Like Christ, you are both priest and victim. You spill blood and you suffer for it.” He leaned in to lay a controlled, chaste kiss on Will’s cheek. “It is the most wondrous sight.”

Will shut his eyes again. Everything was easier in the dark. There he could focus only on the warmth of Hannibal, so close by, and the constant gravitational pull toward him. Nothing else mattered. 

“Does that make me your instrument? A puppet. Primed and dressed by you, until circumstance prompts the sins to be atoned for.”

“You are your own instrument, seeking retribution, justice. Knowingly you hand yourself over to it, aware of what you will endure afterwards. You walk that line constantly. I merely precipitate it.”

Nodding, Will bent towards him, and let himself be swallowed up in the enveloping darkness of Hannibal’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Now has a sequel of sorts in Sacrifice
> 
> Come talk Hannibal at me on [tumblr](http://weconqueratdawn.tumblr.com/).


End file.
